


Ice Water

by Joysweeper



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Awkwardness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joysweeper/pseuds/Joysweeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes being sheltered and inexperienced is dangerous. Sometimes, it's just awkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Water

They were trying to keep a low profile, Luke and the band of Rebels he’d been assigned to, while they waited for a contact. On this planet, in this old cantina on the edge of a town that could have been Anchorhead’s extrastellar twin, that meant faded, battered clothing, dusty hair, and an attitude of jaded resignation. Luke could do that. Not as well as his companions, maybe, but he could manage.

Still, he winced when the droid server - an ancient WA-7 balancing with repulsor stabilizers on a single wheel - rolled their way with a carafe of ice water.

“We can’t afford that,” he murmured urgently to his companions, who were just getting settled into the cracked nerf-leather cushions. “We can’t be seen throwing those kinds of credits around.”

He was rewarded with a broad, amused smile. “Luke, it’s complimentary.”

“But it’s got ice!” There was almost a squeak in his voice as he protested. On most of Tatooine, water ice was a rare delicacy. The Darklighters had a powerful speeder-sized refrigeration unit and could produce it whenever they wanted - he’d been favored with a few glasses clicking with bits of ice courtesy of his friendship with Biggs - but otherwise?

“Oh, hon, ice-cold haich-two-oh is on the house!” the droid, now close enough to hear him, pronounced. With practiced mechanical gestures she set out the tumblers and filled each, leaving the carafe on the table with a mild thump before wheeling incuriously away.

“Skywalker, close your mouth before something flies into it,” he was advised. Trying not to look guilty, Luke complied and circled his glass with both hands, letting the cold condensation wet his skin.

He didn’t really know any of these people. They were primarily negotiators, diplomats, he’d been told. Not the kind of people he usually spent time with in his off hours - well, Leia had been a Senator, but she was different. These were an entirely unremarkable handful of humans and one Mon Calamari.

Which was exactly why he’d been assigned to work with them. They needed someone famous and charismatic to show to a prospective ally, to show that they took this alliance seriously. Luke had argued against it. He wasn’t sure he fit the qualifications - famous, sure, but he wasn’t even a real Jedi, and _charismatic?_ Oh no. Han, he’d said. Han would be perfect. Unfortunately Han had been otherwise occupied, and anyway he had been told that he’d do as well as anyone.

Luke had also been told that these negotiators were utterly devoted to the cause of the Rebel Alliance _and_ weren’t horribly ruthless or secretly in league with anyone unsavory. There’d be no Master Axlons in this bunch. Apparently. He did have to admit, to his paltry skills in the Force they seemed far more transparent and less secretive than Axlon had.

The door to the diner jingled as a figure in a battered dusty cloak, identical to the ones the Rebels wore in every way, came through. There was a quick exchange before she was confirmed to be their contact, and came to sit with them, lowering her hood. For a moment Luke tensed - but she wasn’t Dani. Same species, he thought, another Zeltron, but not her. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not.

She looked like a handsome human woman, if one discounted the deep magenta of her skin. The same color was darker in her hair, which was cropped short but still had a curl to it, and brighter in her large, deep-set eyes.

“I’m Ehrika.” Only one name. Maybe her people didn’t use more, or didn’t give them out casually.

There were one-name introductions all around, and handclasps. When they reached him, Ehrika’s eyes widened. “ _The_ Luke?” Her voice lowered. “Skywalker?”

He glanced uncomfortably away for a moment, then looked back and nodded. It _was_ why he was here, after all. The clout factor of his name.

“Wow...” she said, and he was suddenly thinking of her as younger than he’d first assumed. She didn’t seem to notice that his hand was damp from the glass - in fact, her hand lingered on his until he pulled away as decorously as he knew how.

Luke found he was smiling stupidly and had to make himself stop by imagining Leia here in the diner, giving him an arch look. It wasn’t like he’d never seen a pretty girl before, he reminded himself.

Ehrika shook off whatever it was and was back to business, though now she was barely meeting his eyes. From there the meeting went pretty much as he’d expected. Tedious, and taking a _lot_ longer than he thought was strictly necessary to get certain things done. By the time it was done, she had at least agreed to ask the monarchs to meet with a delegation.

“I certainly hope you’ll come too,” Ehrika told him, resting a hand which seemed uncommonly warm on his shoulder. “We’d love for you to enjoy Zeltros’s famous hospitality.”

Luke stammered something polite which she seemed to accept, and she took her leave. As she went out the door she half turned and winked at him.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a conquest, Skywalker,” one of the other Rebels said knowingly.

Luke was sure he looked like a Zeltron himself just now, his face was so hot. “I do not!”

“It might complicate our trip...”

“Aaaah, let him come. So one took a shine to him.”

“No one has a shine on me!”

**Author's Note:**

> I found a WIP I started a couple years ago. This part can stand on its own, I guess.


End file.
